Understand
by littlesaru
Summary: Non-yaoi. POV piece. Vegeta muses on the attitude of the people he now lives among, betraying his confusion of their ways...


Understand 

  
**By;** Littlesaru 

**Warning;** Lemon | Yaoi | Contains small amounts of violence | 

**Note;** All flames will be cordially ignored. Constructive criticism is welcomed. 

**Disclaimer:**  
none of the various characters, settings or other recognisable parts of various animes belong to the author - they belong to their respective copywright holders. All original characters and all stories are, however, copywright of the author. No money is being made from the dissemination of this text, it was written purely for the non-commercial enjoyment of this area of fandom. Suing is pointless, as the author has no money. 

  
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They think me cold, these softhearted creatures. Soft inhabitants of a soft, sweet world; a world where the winters are never so cold nor the summers so hot as the planet of my birth. Cold. Heh. If only… I burn too brightly, too harshly to ever dare come too near. Such frail and fragile companions I have now. Such openness and honesty, such hope and love and kindness… even as they judge me for my aloofness, they also forgive me. They think I do not hear the whispers, the restrained complaints; I am too demanding and arrogant to my mate, too cold and distant to my son… They do not understand. 

I am the last son of a ruthless world, raised by a master more ruthless still. I cannot… I dare not come too close. Not to her, not to him. No matter how loud and irritable she might be, the woman - Bulma - is still innocent, almost as innocent as her son. I am a harsh man, a cruel man, a very, very arrogant man, but worse than all the faults that they complain of, worse than all the things that I have done to them and with them… I am corrupt. I have suffered the touch of a monster, and committed the worse sin of surviving it, carrying within me his tainted seed. I will not risk spreading that corruption to those around me. 

She wonders yet, why it is that I no longer lie with her. What was it that made me turn from her, what did she do wrong? As though she ever did anything wrong. _My_ touch tainted her fair skin; my hands on her body soiled her soul. The fault was mine, and she should not have to share it. Better for me to remain aloof, as far away as possible rather than risk further harm to her. And him… sweet and trusting and forever trying to win my approval, my affection - as though he did not already have it. I cannot fault him for it. I remember a time, so long ago now, when I used to do the same; it seems that every Prince of the Saiyajins has striven to prove himself worthy to his father. I know that I never succeeded, but I never had the chance to. Trunks… he has already far outstripped any expectations I had of him. That something so… pure, so unsullied should come from me, from any part of me… it is a miracle that I would give praise for daily, were there any Gods to hear my thanks. 

That is another thing I am grateful for - that he is not entirely of my forsaken race. _He_ has Gods he can turn to, an entire civilisation for his support… I could offer him nothing of his people, no remnant of history of which he could be proud, no architectural achievements, no literature or art… what we had was not unsophisticated, nor inelegant, but… it is long gone. Ashes and dust on the stellar breeze. I will not bequeath him a legacy of death when he could take part in all the life that this planet has to offer. It is fortunate that he does not make it hard for me - there are no questions about the race that blazed so briefly amongst the stars, no curiosity about the creatures that gave his father birth, and so I do not have to lie, nor ignore that open, trusting face. Better for him never to know, better for them all never to know. Only I will mourn the loss of a race that achieved more than murder. 

We _were_ a great people; we had love and hope and sorrow, an appreciation of fine things and the ability to make them. Our passions ran high and our blood was hot, but we knew compassion too. We were not always without mercy, not always without joy, but we knew our place and would have kept it. Slaves to one race whom we killed, then slaves to a single master who killed us. We knew our place, _I_ knew my place, and though I rebelled I never intended to survive the folly of my mutiny. These… these tender fools, that one member of my blood whom I nominally claim as one of my own race… they brought me back as though it were a gift, something good, a saving grace for a damned soul. A second chance that damns me further… They do not understand. 

The darkness that has tainted me… there is no salvation, no hope for its cure. I am damned, would be damned even if I were to change my ways entirely and become sugar-sweet and kind; something so impossible… how can I be so when all the world has ever taught me is pain and hate and agony? To touch, as they wish me to touch… even were I not so tainted… to be so _close_, close enough that there could be no defence to a dagger in the heart… I am not so fearless. To trust… I do not think they realise how great an amount of courage that takes, they who practice it every moment of their lives, as though it is commonplace… easy. Their smiles mock me with their innocence, their casual bravery so alien to my own arrogant bravado. I know the frenzy of battle, the heat of death, the triumph of destruction; I understand the pounding of the blood, the way the dust coats the tongue and grates the throat, the certainty of pain. The physical, the material; that is my arena, my chosen theatre of life. Emotions, _feelings_… these things are unknown and unknowable. How can I fight something that I cannot touch? 

Yet still they insist on the continuous association, as though I have not made my feelings on the matter plain and obvious, so that even a child could see and understand. I am not pleasant company, neither witty nor amusing, not kind or wise; I have no value to them and yet they still call me to their side, and I, foolish, despicable monster that I am, continue to answer to their call. Collectively they outstrip me in strength, in intelligence, in understanding and kindness… all the things they seem to value so highly, all their so-called _virtues_. What need have they of such a one as me? I am a mockery and yet they do not mock, a bare and tangled web of hate and pain and corruption and yet they do not despise me… I do not understand… 


End file.
